Death and Candy Read online

  “What do you mean?”

  “Listen,” I said, shaking it more vigorously and holding it up to his ear.

  It wasn’t crying this time that greeted our ears, but a woman’s voice.

  p-please…. why are you doing this to me?

  There was no answer.

  “What the fuck?” I heard Dean swear under his breath.

  I shook the box again, but there was nothing. I heard a deep voice in my ear.

  I know you’re listening, it said. Would you like to join us?

  I couldn’t help what happened next; I threw the box on the ground and began stomping on it like it was a cockroach. And every time my foot made contact it would scream, louder and louder until it felt like little needles were stabbing into my eardrums. And then the blood began to pour, bursting out in spurts and soaking the floorboard. The tires screeched as Dean slammed on the brakes and the car span to a halt, sideways in the road. He scooped up the box and hurled it out the open window and then slammed on the gas. I could hear the screams growing fainter and fainter behind us as we sped away.

  For the next three hours neither one of us dared to break the silence. I took off my blood-soaked shoes and put them in our road trip garbage bag. When we had almost arrived Dean got a call from his mother; he pushed the hands-free call button on the steering wheel and her voice came through the car speakers.

  “Oh Dean, thank God you answered,” she said. “Where are you two now?”

  “We’re right outside the city limits. Why, what’s going on?”

  “Oh it’s terrible. We just saw it on the news.”

  “Saw what?” I could see Dean clenching his jaw, and I began to feel sick to my stomach.

  “They found that missing teenager, Abby something, on the side of the road.”

  “They did?” Dean’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel, and blackness started creeping in at the edges of my vision.

  “Oh, yes, it’s horrible. So young, and to die like that. It’s just too terrible to think about.”

  “How did she die?” Dean’s voice was beginning to shake, and I felt as if I was falling.

  “They said her body was covered in shoe prints and road rash,” Dean’s mom went on in a low voice. “They said it looked like someone had stomped all over her and threw her out of a moving car.”

  I could hear tires screeching as if from far away, and darkness began to glide over my vision in a solid black line, like a lid sliding over a box.

  32

  The Yu Jia Lake Monster

  When I felt particularly down, I used to wander the old dirt trails by the lake to the east of the city. In the early morning hours, when the first rays of light spread across the horizon in a golden line, I would breathe in the scent of the pines and the dew-dampened grass. I would let the smell settle in my nose, and then spread throughout my body, bringing the peace of the calm, still lake with it. One by one my worries would drift away, until my mind was empty except for the lapping of water and the sweep of a gentle breeze across my face.

  It was in one of these meditative states that I met the monster of the lake.

  My eyes were closed as I took in the quiet noises of the early morning, insects and early-rising birds calling in the distance. I heard a bubbling noise from the water beside me, and I opened my eyes to see a hideous creature bobbing up and down among the lily pads. His skin was rough and green like a frog’s, and his eyes were huge, glassy orbs that seemed to look right through me.

  When those eyes were fixed upon me, I found that I could not move.

  “Welcome to my lake,” said the monster.

  His voice was deep and croaked like a frog’s.

  “Thank you,” I replied, not knowing what else to say.

  “Hmm…” said the monster. “Is something troubling you?”

  I felt an uncomfortable squirm in my stomach.

  “How did you know?” I asked.

  The monster gave a throaty chuckle.

  “It’s easy to see when you’re really looking,” he said. “So tell me, human, what are you running from, all the way out here at my lake?”

  I looked at the sky and watched a feathery cloud drift eastward on the wind.

  “I’m running from the noise,” I said. “From the neon lights and the music, and the endless drunk conversations that I can’t even remember the next morning.” I paused for a moment before I continued. “Sometimes… I wish I could go back to before, when the city was just a village, and words actually meant something.”

  The monster chuckled again.

  “A long time ago,” he began, “before the neon lights and the music, when the city was just a small fishing village, there were still conversations full of words that meant nothing. Only sometimes, if you knew where to look, could you find something worth listening to.”

  “So it’s always been this way, then,” I said.

  “Yes,” the monster replied. “That is the nature of the world.”

  I stared past the monster at the vast expanse of gently rippling steel-gray waters.

  “Do you know what I came here to do?” I asked.

  The monster nodded.

  “You came to seek peace inside my lake,” he replied. “Quiet dark beneath the still waters of death.”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  My stomach sunk.

  “Are you going to stop me?” I asked.

  “I’m going to guide you,” he replied. “Come beneath the waters with me.”

  I took a deep breath and steeled myself, and then I waded into the cold waters of the lake. As I walked towards the monster the water first reached my ankles, then my knees, my waist and then my neck. By the time I had reached where he was floating, the water was above my head. The monster sank below the surface of the lake and took my hand, pulling me deep into the lake.

  As we went deeper, the water grew darker, and soon the weak sunlight of the early morning could no longer penetrate the murky depths. The monster led me to the bottom, to a bed of seaweed and algae.

  “You can rest here,” he said, bubbles drifting out of his mouth as he spoke, “Far away from the city noise.”

  As I stared at the bed of seaweed and algae swaying gently under the water, I suddenly realized I could no longer breathe.

  My lungs burned for oxygen, and my brain screamed at me to get to the surface. I kicked off and began to swim upward with all my might. But I felt a hand close around my ankle, and suddenly I was being pulled back down to the bottom. I looked down to see a rotted hand clasped around my ankle, yellowed ancient bones poking through rotted flesh as it held it me in its death grip. As I sank lower and lower I saw other dead faces, looming hollow and white through the darkness, strands of pale gray hair drifting eerily through the water.

  “Your place is here,” they chanted. “Beneath the silent black waters. With us.”

  I kicked hard at the one who held my ankle, my foot taking with it a piece of fragile, waterlogged flesh as it collided with its skull, and I felt its grip relax.

  I kicked off again and propelled myself towards the surface as fast as I could. Dead faces whirled around me, looming in and out of view. The dead screeched as I shot towards the surface, lunging at me and digging long fingernails deep into my flesh as their chase became more frantic.

  I was able to distance myself from the crowd, but my muscles grew clumsy and heavy. Purple stars danced in my vision.

  I knew, right then, that I was not going to make it to the surface.

  But just when I was about to give up I saw a faint light, glimmering gray through the water above me. I forced my burning, heavy limbs to move; I forced my frantic oxygen-starved brain to focus on only one thought—get to the light.

  Slowly, the light grew brighter, and soon it was no longer gray but gold—I had almost returned to the surface, towards fresh air and sunshine, towards the wonderful fresh air and morning light, and the soft singing of birds.

  I burst through the surface of the wa
ter and sucked in the fresh lake-scented air. The sunlight of the early morning dazzled in my eyes as I took in each heady lungful. Finally, my breathing began to steady.

  I scanned the flat gray waters of the lake, looking for the shore. But it was nowhere to be seen.

  Before I could decide which direction to go, the monster surfaced a few feet from me.

  I raised my fist to strike him, but as he fixed his glassy black eyes on me, I realized I could no longer move.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  The monster grabbed my arm and began to swim along the lake’s surface, away from the horizon. Before long the shore came into view, and the monster deposited me on the edge of the lake, soaked and shivering, next to one of the old dirt trails.

  I lay flat on my back and regarded him warily as he stared up at the sky.

  “You tried to kill me,” I said.

  “I tried to help you do what you came to do,” said the monster. “But you chose to fight back.”

  He once again fixed me with his glassy black stare.

  “There’s a quiet loneliness in the scent of the early morning air,” he said. “But there is far more loneliness in a bed of seaweed and algae beneath the black waters of the lake.”

  We locked eyes for a long moment, the water lapping at the monster as he bobbed up and down among the lily pads.

  Then, without a word further, he sank beneath the surface, and the water closed over his head. I never saw him again.

  I sat for a while and watched the sun creep further and further up into the sky. I breathed in the scent of the pine trees and the dew-dampened grass, and slowly, I tried to will myself to forget the horror that I had just witnessed.

  It’s been many years since I last visited the lake. I know that time has a way of distorting our memories, and in the years since I met the monster, I’ve often tried to convince myself that what I saw was just a fabrication of an oxygen-starved brain.

  But there is one thing that prevents me from believing that.

  The scars that the dead gave me that day have never faded, and when my thoughts turn to darkness and death the scars burn red and painful like fire under my skin until I push the dark clouds from my mind.

  And when the clouds part I can close my eyes and see the lake as I saw it that day, mirror-gray waters reflecting the first golden light to spread across the horizon.

  I hear the insects and the birds, smell the trees, the damp earth and grass, and feel the cool kiss of wind across my face.

  And I am at peace.

  33

  When Stuffed Animals Start Talking, Dont Talk Back

  One ear missing, covered in blood and broken glass, it had been tossed clear of the now smoking heap of twisted metal that had once been a small family’s SUV. I don’t know why I bent down to pick it up—maybe it reminded me of a stuffed animal I had had as a kid or something.

  I stared at it; my thoughts wandered off on a tangent. Had the little girl in the back seat been holding it when the car had smashed into the the tree? Was it her blood? Did she even know what had happened? Or had it been too quick? My mind drifted off into introspective reverie. I carried the little pink bunny to my work truck and stuck it in the passenger seat.

  Now I knew I would have to figure out how to get the crushed remains of the SUV on the back of my truck so I could haul it off the road.

  “Hello?” came a voice.

  I started, looked around, but saw nobody. The police had left with the paramedics. I was alone.

  “Hello?” the voice repeated.

  I looked down, at the bunny. Was I cracking up?

  “Mister?” said the bunny. “I can’t move. I’m scared.”

  I cleared my throat. My voice came out as a rasp.

  “Just relax,” I said. “You’re alright. Were you—are you… the little girl who was in the car?”

  “Yes,” said the stuffed animal. A pause. “Have you seen my parents? I want to see my mom and dad.”

  I’d seen what was left of them, sure, before they zipped them up in the black rubber bags and carted them off.

  “They’re waiting for you,” I lied. “At the hospital. They’re fine.”

  “Oh, okay,” said the voice. It sounded unconvinced. “Mister?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do I need to go to the hospital?”

  I shook my head.

  “I don’t think they can do much to help you, honey.”

  There was a pause.

  “I want to see myself,” said the voice. “Can you show me?”

  “I… don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I replied.

  Did she know she was inside her stuffed animal? Did she suspect? A silent, tense moment passed, and then she said, “Are you lying to me?”

  “Yes,” I said before I could stop myself. “I’m so sorry.”

  “My parents are dead, aren’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I’m dead, too.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s okay,” said the girl. “I knew that I was dead. And I know why you lied to me.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  “It’s really okay,” replied the girl. “This…has happened before.”

  “What?”

  When she spoke again, her voice was hushed.

  “I go inside him sometimes,” she said. “My bunny, Mr. Frank. When I’m upset. Sometimes I can even go inside other people, but only if I know them really well. I try not to, though. They get squeezed when I do, into the corner of their minds. They don’t like it.”

  “Oh,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Mister?” said the girl.

  “Yes?”

  “Can you help me?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Can you take me to my sister? I want to see her.”

  “No problem,” I said. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”

  Without any further discussion I climbed into the driver’s seat and we set off. I followed the directions as the girl gave them to me, and fourty-five minutes later we had arrived at the parking lot to a dormitory building at the local community college. The police station and my boss had called me a few times, no doubt wondering why I hadn’t cleaned up the wreck, but I had sent their calls straight to voicemail. I’d figure out how to explain myself later.

  I took the stuffed bunny from the passenger seat and walked to the sister’s door, number 401. Three solemn knocks and twenty seconds later the door was answered by a young blond girl in her early twenties.

  “Yes?” she said. “Can I help you?”

  Her face bore a tired expression; her eyes were puffy from crying. So she’d already heard about the accident.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you,” I said. “But I have something for you.”

  I held the bunny out to her at arm’s length.

  “What the fuck?” she said, staring wide-eyed at the bloodied bunny with the missing ear.

  How could I possibly explain?

  “Your sister…” I trailed off.

  “My sister,” she said. “Oh my god. This is my sister’s…no—”

  She slammed the door in my face.

  “Open the door,” said the bunny.

  Without thinking, I complied.

  “I know you’re upset,” I said.

  “Get the fuck away from me!” shouted the young woman. She began hurling whatever her hands could reach straight at me.

  “I just wanted to tell you that—”

  “Get the fuck——”

  The words froze in her throat. Her body went slack. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed on the floor in a boneless heap.

  The boneless heap groaned. Then, in the voice of a little girl, it spoke.

  “Thank you,” it said.

  “Are you…?” I said. “I don’t understand.”

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s me.”

  “But how?”

  “I already told you.
It’s not the first time. I can go into people, too.” She paused.

  “Didn’t you wonder?” she said. “About the accident?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The only tree for miles, and we crashed into it,” she said. “It was me. I did it. My dad was yelling at me—he deserved it.”

  “No,” I said. “No.”

  I couldn’t say anything else. A thousand broken thoughts and ugly feelings were fighting a melee in my head.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “You saved me. I won’t hurt you. Unless you make me. You won’t make me, will you?”

  I froze for a moment, unable to speak. I shook my head.

  “No,” I said, “I won’t.”

  34

  My Neighbor was a Vampire

  Everybody knew old Ms. Robbins was a vampire. Our parents said that we were just being paranoid, but we had evidence. The first piece of evidence was that she almost never left the house, and never during the daytime. The second piece of evidence was that she always dressed in black.

  The third, and most compelling piece of evidence was that Billy Atkins said he once saw her watching the sunrise on her porch one time, and when the sun came up she clutched her chest and ran inside.

  It hadn’t been so bad at first, having a vampire in the neighborhood. We knew that we were safe in the daytime, and we’d be locked in our houses at night. And everybody knows that a vampire can’t come in unless you invite it.

  But then Ms. Robbins began to venture out of the house more often. She’d only go out at night, and she’d only go as far as the lawn. She did the same thing every time. She’d stand there, staring out into the night, not moving. Then slowly, she’d reach into her pocket and pull out her keys, rattling them with a back and forth motion of the wrist as if she were playing with an invisible baby.

  Sometimes she’d stay until the sun came up, and then she’d clutch her chest and run inside. This went on for a couple of weeks. Every night, she would get a little closer to the street. First she was fifteen feet away. A few nights later she was ten. And then she was five. Every night she would rattle the keys harder, until the neighbor’s dog began to bark at her.